


john egbert vs the world; dave come closer

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)
Genre: Crossover, Dave is Ramona, John is Scott, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life is shit and you are oddly okay with the fact that Dave Strider would rather cuddle with you than have sex with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	john egbert vs the world; dave come closer

**Author's Note:**

> why am i the first person who has done this.
> 
> john is obviously fit for the roll of scott pilgrim and dave is fit for ramona flowers, so _why_ has no one done this?
> 
> \+ obviously based on the movie scott pilgrim vs the world!

You swing the door to your apartment open so hard that it smacks against the wall with a bang and knocks a few of Kanaya’s knick-knacks over, but you’re too busy throwing your bag down and hopping in front of the computer to pay any mind to it. “Kanaya, what’s the website for amazon.ca?”

You hear a quiet rustle. “Amazon.ca,” she responds tiredly. “Why?”

“Sweet,” you say, and she huffs. “Gotta order something cool.”

You order a twenty dollar pair of sunglasses, even though you’re pretty sure you could’ve ordered something way cooler than that. Too little too late, you guess. Then you get up, pick up Kanaya’s things, and sit down right in front of the door. “John, are you waiting for the package you _just_ ordered?” Kanaya asks, and you nod. “It’s the weekend. The soonest it’ll be here is Monday.”

The doorbell rings.

“What was that you were saying?” You snark.

You pull the door open and try to pretend you’re not bursting with excitement, and you’re standing there with it open for about three seconds before you hear, “Tackle hug!” and you are indeed tackled by the person’s hug. They let go of you after a second and step back; it’s Roxy, surprise surprise. “You were supposed to meet me at the library thirty minutes ago, but you didn’t show, so I came to check if you were alright.”

“Oh,” is your intuitive reply. “Oh. Okay.”

The two of you end up going out for the entire day. Roxy tells you story upon story and you really aren’t listening, but you try your best to pretend that you are. She holds your hand too tight and tugs you too hard, but you suck it up. You end the day at the arcade and you know she notices you aren’t in the mood for this, but she pretends she doesn’t.

You kiss her on your doorstep, and she tangles her hands in your hair and tries to pull you closer, closer, and you nearly choke on her tongue because she shoves it down your throat. She apologizes weakly, face burning with embarrassment, and you promise her that it’s fine. You promise to take her out Monday, but you probably won’t.

The package comes on Monday like Kanaya said it would. You’re opening the door as the doorbell is being rung, and on the other side is Dave Strider, your package balanced in his right hand and a clipboard in the other. “I was gonna ask you out but then I realized how stupid and weird that sounds. So do you want to go out sometime?”

He raises a slender eyebrow. “No. Can you sign for this?”

“I just had a dream about you delivering this package. Is that weird?”

“No,” he remarks. “Sign for this.”

“Do you wanna hang out sometime?”

“ _You_ ,” he says. “Want to hang out with _me_.”

"Yeah. Well like, I mean, if you want to of course.”

He exhales frustratedly. “If I say yes, will you sign for this?”

You sign your name in a second flat and throw the box behind you. You were aiming for the trashcan, but you’re ninety percent sure you missed. “...Right,” he states. “Wednesday?”

You nod and try not to look too dorky and excited, but you’re pretty sure you do anyway. “Yeah.”

On Wednesday, Kanaya invites her girlfriend Rose over and they fuss with your hair and outfit until it’s time for you to go. Rose kisses your head and Kanaya kisses your cheek; they’re strange, but you don’t question them. You walk to the park and try to ignore the fact that your fingers are going numb because you forgot your gloves at home and your jacket isn’t very heavy, so stuffing your hands in the pockets aren’t really helping much.

When you make it to the park, Dave is already waiting for you.

“Oh,” you breathe, and he turns. “Oh. You’re here.”

“Yeah?” He responds, and it sounds like a question. “I was supposed to be, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought you were like, too cool to be here on time.”

He raises an eyebrow, briefly, and then he starts walking. You follow. The only sound is the snow crunching beneath your feet until you ask why he moved to Seattle, and you make sure to add, “...because it’s a shithole.”

“So is Texas,” he tells you. “I’m running from my past. So far, it hasn’t caught up.”

The two of you walk silently for some time after that, and then you find some empty swings to sit on. You swing back and forth, tips of your toes barely brushing against the ground. “What are you running from?” You ask after a beat, and Dave’s glare tells you to stop thinking about it and don’t ever ask again. So you do.

(Well, you try. It doesn’t really work.)

When he stands you do too, and then you’re walking again and he says, “This is a shitty excuse for a date. I mean, look. The ground is covered in snow and it’s still snowing, what bullshit.”

“A date?” You ask.

“Did I say that?” He fires back, craning his neck to look at you. You nod. “Huh. Slip of the tongue.”

You mutter the word tongue right after Dave says it, like you’re his echo. He says, “C’mon, I think there’s a thingy over there.”

“A thingy?” You ask.

“A door,” he says, and then he takes your hand and tugs you behind him. It’s different than Roxy, who has velvety skin and pulls you too hard. Dave is wearing fingerless wool gloves that make your hand itch and he tugs you, softly, just hard enough to keep you at his pace. It isn’t long before you’re back at his apartment, shivering, your jacket thrown over whichever piece of furniture was closest. “I think I’m going to have some tea. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” you reply. “What kinds do you have?”

He lists them off at a mile a minute, and you’re pretty sure he made some of them up. “Did you make some of those up?” You ask, and he smiles.

“I think I’m going to have Sleepytime,” is all he says.

“That’s fine,” you respond. “Can I have a blanket?”

He tells you he’s going to make the tea first. You nod and look outside while he does, the sound of passing cars drowning out the sound of boiling water. It isn’t long before he sets a mug down in front of you. Then he turns on his heel and walks away. After he’s gone for ten minutes you tire of waiting and you go to find him, and when you do it’s in his bedroom. He’s standing in front of his closet in nothing but a pair of boxers. You cover your eyes reflectively.

He laughs. “Dude, I’m changing.”

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I’m just really cold.”

He sighs. “Here,” he says quietly, and soon your eyes are covered but you don’t worry too much about it because you’re warm. So you ask, “What is that?” and he uncovers your eyes. His arms are slung loosely over your shoulders and he’s close enough that your noses are touching.

“Were you going to bring me the blanket from your bed?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact that his lips are mere millimeters from your own.

“Probably.” He replies.

“Well, we could, uh,” you gulp. “Just. Go to it instead. Since we’re both so cold.”

You don’t know how but he ends up on top of you, legs hooked around your thighs. You reach out tentatively and lay your hands on his hips, and it’s then that he closes the small distance between your lips and his and then you’re kissing. He runs his hands down your chest and you rub circles on his hipbones with your thumbs, and before you know it he’s kissing you with tongue and oh, _oh_ , that’s a new thing.

It’s over as quick as it’d started. Soon enough he’s moving away, laying next to you and tucking your head under his chin. He tugs the blanket to your waists. “I don’t want to have sex with you, John Egbert.”

“Oh,” is your discerning reply.

He adjusts until you’re looking him in the eyes, at least you think they’re his eyes but you can’t really tell because he’s still wearing sunglasses. “I’m not going to make you go home in a snowstorm, though. You can sleep in my bed.”

“Oh,” you repeat. “Okay.”

He snorts and kisses your head and runs a hand through your hair, and you fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i might make this into an entire story? i don't know, it really depends if anyone wants it to be more than just a oneshot.


End file.
